The world came back with a jolt along with the smell of ammonia and a sharp ache in his cheekbone.
Kira opened his eyes. He wasn't lying in the gilded tomb of his house. He was on a rough wooden bunk. The air smelled of damp and sour wine. When he tried to breathe, his ribs ground painfully, as if something inside had shifted out of place.
His jaw was bound so tightly that his teeth dug into his gums. His left arm was strapped firmly to his chest. He couldn't feel his fingers — only a throbbing heat in his shoulder that radiated through his entire body with each heartbeat.
"I'm alive," he noted, without relief.
The last thing he remembered was a red haze — the moment he stepped into Halden's blow. After that?
Had he watched his own palm drive into the giant's throat? Or had he simply blacked out while his body finished the work on its own
"Interesting…" a calm voice said, too calm for this place.
Kira turned his head with effort. In the corner of the cell, deep in shadow, a man sat. He wore a clean coat of grey wool. A book lay open across his knees — completely out of place in this dungeon.
"Your rhythm is gone," he said, without lifting his eyes.
"Only the pain remains. That's a good sign. You haven't fully become a mechanism yet."
Kira went rigid. The flash of pain from his broken ribs retreated briefly, pushed aside by a strange, cold stillness.
Rhythm. How does he know that word?
"Don't try to speak," the man turned a page.
"Your jaw is held together by goodwill alone. Three ribs are shattered. And your left shoulder… " he paused
"…let's say the physician had to reassemble the bone. For a "Zero," you pay a steep price."
Questions boiled inside him. Who was this man? Why speak of rhythm? Most importantly —
What did I do to that giant?
Kira looked at him with dark green eyes. Despite his trembling body and cold sweat, there was no slave's submission in that gaze.
"Your eyes…" the stranger narrowed his own."
"I've only seen eyes like those in one place. Far to the north. And none of those people should have ended up in this stinking pit."
He turned another page.
"No slave from the pits moves the way you moved, he continued."
"You weren't just dodging. You were waiting for the moment Halden made a mistake in his own rhythm."
Kira tried to swallow. His throat felt packed with sand.
"Rhythm…" a rasp tore out with a thin stream of bloody foam.
"I didn't… I just saw it."
He squeezed his eyes shut. Flashes from the arena came and went: the crack of bone, the scent of lavender, the perfect silence inside his own skull.
"Who…" he forced his lips apart.
"Who are you?"
"The one who decides whether to feed you to the dogs for ruining half the city's bets — or to make something worthwhile out of you."
"He went quiet, studying Kira's face with unhurried precision."
Kira felt something shift inside him. Worse than fear before Halden.
"You're lucky, Zero. The Master is impressed. He has a taste for rare things — and you are the rarest I've seen in years."
"Who is the Master?" Kira rasped, ignoring the pain in his jaw.
The man rose, moving toward the bars.
"The one who bought your life back from death." He stopped at the gate.
"And believe me, Zero," he will want his return on that investment.
The stranger turned to leave. Kira rasped after him:
"Halden…" he hesitated, afraid of the answer.
"Is he dead?"
The man in grey stopped at the gate. He didn't turn around.
"Worse. He no longer has a name."
…click.
His footsteps faded. Silence returned slowly.
Kira was alone.
He looked at his right hand. The fingers still trembled. Knuckles swollen and dark red — but they didn't feel like his.
He tried to remember: reaching for bread at the market… running from the guards… The memories were vivid, yet now felt counterfeit, like scenes from someone else's play.
Emptiness settled over him. The real Kira — the one afraid of the dark — seemed hidden deep inside.
And something else sat in his place.
Was that really me? I couldn't have…
Nausea rose. He was suddenly afraid to touch his own face — as if these hands might strangle him on their own.
That thought was more terrifying than any pain.
Kira feared closing his eyes. Afraid he'd wake again to find his body had performed something else while he slept.
He curled into himself on the rotting straw, pulling his broken arm close. He wanted to scream — but the bandage around his jaw wouldn't let him open his mouth.
He l
ay still and listened to his heartbeat.
In that same rhythm he had grown to hate.
thud… thud… thud…